


To Those Who Wait

by zarabithia



Category: Avenger (Comic), Hawkeye (Comics), Young Avengers
Genre: Bondage, F/M, Mention of Past Sexual Assault, community: hurt/comfort bingo
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-09-23
Updated: 2012-09-23
Packaged: 2017-11-14 21:22:04
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,793
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/519636
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/zarabithia/pseuds/zarabithia
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Kate gets in touch with her kinky side. Clint comes along for the ride.</p>
            </blockquote>





	To Those Who Wait

**Author's Note:**

> Written for the "therapy" prompt for hurt/comfort bingo.

They've been having sex for six months when Kate first brings up the idea. 

"Yeah," he says, easily. "I could go for that." 

He has, multiple times before, but you don't say that to any lady you're currently having dinner with; Clint may have fucked things up before with his ladies, but he knows that much. 

Kate frowns, and Clint's suddenly not sure that he gave the right answer, which is a weird feeling, because usually "the truth" is the only type of answer that Kate Bishop will accept. 

"Are you sure?" She pauses to tap the spaghetti, rolled up all nice and delicately around her fork, against her plate. "You answered pretty quickly. Don't you need some time to think about it?" 

"Not really, no," he answers. "In fact, I am willing to completely skip this third slice of garlic bread if you would like a little demonstration about just how much I don't need to think about it."

"No..." she says slowly. "I think we should wait."

It's an answer that completely throws him, because it is honestly the first time he's ever seen Kate hesitate about anything. For all that they are different, Steve got one thing right the three years earlier, when he'd given her the Hawkeye name.

Kate knows what she wants and she goes after it. 

It's strange that she isn't this time, and Clint makes a note to bring it up to her later, but "later" gets post-poned. Duty calls, for them both, and by the time they are both back in the same bed again, a week has passed and they are both so tired that it takes all their energy just to get each other off. 

Lazy, gentle thrusts and soft kisses against newly formed scars take the place of the play that Kate had suggested earlier. 

~~

Clint completely forgets the matter entirely, until one day, three weeks later, when he walks out of the shower and finds Kate curled up on the couch with a book. 

"Look at you, being the smart Hawkeye."

"As usual." 

"Hey, while some of us were in fancy prep schools, other of us were learning our trade. A trade a certain schoolgirl picked up, I might add."

"At my fancy summer camp," she agrees, and Clint rolls his eyes, plopping down on the couch and reaching for her feet, because a good foot rub is usually the way to a good lay, whether the woman is Natasha, Bobbi, Jessica, or Kate. 

"I don't think I want to spank you," she announces, as though Clint should know what she is talking about. 

"Yeah, got enough of those as a kid," Clint answers, breezily enough that he hopes she doesn't press for more. She doesn't, because they have an agreement that emotionally traumatizing things of the past should stay in the past. "But that must be a hell of a book you're reading there, Hawkette." 

She holds it up so that he can read the cover and he rolls his eyes. "You don't need a guide for that sort of thing. You just do what feels good. Did you need a guide when you first starting having sex?" 

"I had the Internet and a team full of horny teenage teammates," Kate answers. "That was guide enough." 

"See, I need to start recording these conversations, because people think you're the innocent one and I'm corrupting _you_." 

He continues rubbing her feet, waiting for her to continue, but she doesn't, and eventually, she puts aside the book. 

"Are we moving to the bedroom? Easier to tie someone up in there, if you want," Clint says, with his hand resting on the inside of her thigh. 

Kate shakes her head and pulls up her skirt. Leaning back on the couch she spreads her legs and says, "I want those callouses you've been using on my feet inside of me. You should feel free to bring your mouth to the party, too." 

Using his truly fantastic aim, her underwear falls in a tiny heap right on top of the book.

~~

It's been mentioned twice so far, so Clint doesn't forget it again. 

But he doesn't press her, either, because ... well, Clint's not the smartest guy in the world. He will readily admit that. He'll never get to sit at the Genius Boy Table with Richards, Pym, or Stark, but being in the circus taught him to keep his eyes open and watch people. Watching people was important, back then, and it's important now. 

Because he may not be the smartest man alive, but he notices the way that Kate doesn't like to be touched from behind, and he hears the way that she complains about _Law and Order: SVU_ ("The actual worst fucking show," she says.)

He might not be the smartest man alive, but his brain does function, sometimes. Sure, it hadn't functioned when Bobbi had needed it too, but Clint's not in any hurry to repeat that mistake. Which means that he doesn't come up from behind her anymore, and he turns it to Food Network instead. 

It also means he doesn't pressure her when it comes to expanding their sex life into the non-vanilla territory.

So another two weeks passes, and they are lying in bed together, which hasn't at all been a rare occurrence since that fateful night that Clint told her that he didn't want to sleep with her ("Famous last words of a fool," Kate tells him, on a regular basis.) Kate is lying on her side, facing him, her faced scrunched up thoughtfully. 

"Everything okay?" he asks, because that is a normal male response when his partner is frowning so hard during the post-coital phase.

"Have you done it before?" she asks. "I mean, I know it's not cool to ask about people's previous sex lives or anything, and this is not an invitation for you to ask twenty questions about mine, but ... this is kind of important. So I think it gets an exception." 

He could be a smart ass. He could pretend that he doesn't know what "it" means here, or give some flippant comment about having lost his virginity before she'd started kindergarten. 

But she's ruined that by the softness in her voice, when she says, "this is kind of important," so Clint decides to be a grown up. 

"Yeah," he says. "A couple of times." _"My entire relationship with Natasha,"_ he doesn't say. 

"Did you like it?" 

"I liked some things better than others, but overall ... yes. I really did." 

She sits up then, propping herself up on her elbow. "Do you miss it?" 

Oh, Lord, this is the type of territory that's going to get him into trouble. "I like what we have, Katie. And you will never, ever hear me complain about vanilla sex. There is literally nothing that I _miss_ when I'm with you. But if you every want to include the kinky things, I will be more than happy to incorporate that into our sex life...whenever you are ready."

Kate's gaze goes all soft, and for a minute, Clint's pretty sure he has said the wrong thing. "You'll wait for me?" she asks. 

"Duh." 

"Famous last words of a fool," she says, and kisses him on the forehead.

He genuinely has no idea what that means. None. 

But they don't break out the toys that night, either.

~

Two days later, they're in the grocery store. It's been a rough night, but they're both feeling a little wired from the adrenaline, so sleep will not come any time soon. 

It's too early for pizza delivery, and the cabinets in his apartment are empty, so they're trying to hide the bruises from the four other people stupid enough to still be awake at this hour, while they raid the frozen section of the store. 

The cart is full of tasty carb-loaded products like frozen burritos, jalapeño poppers, and canned chili, and Clint finishes tossing a bag of chicken nuggets onto the pile when Kate reaches for his hand. 

Clint glances down to see her thumb circling a bruise rapidly forming on his wrist. 

"What's on your mind, girly girl?" 

"Ropes, leather, or handcuffs?" she asks, and Clint blinks a few times to make sure that he heard her correctly. Then he glances up and down the frozen food aisle.

Kate rolls her eyes. "There are four other people in this store total, Clint. None of them are in this aisle, so it's just between you, me, and the frozen chicken." 

"Frozen chicken can be very judgmental." 

"You're a terrible dork." 

"And yet, you're sleeping with me," Clint retorts. "But for the record, all of the above. I was actually thinking scarves, though, for you. Well, for us." 

Kate's eyes widen a little, and she almost looks young enough that Clint feels a quick pang of guilt, even if she _is_ old enough to be in college ("And old enough to fuck whomever I please," as Kate had once told Steve Rogers very firmly - a memory that will always be one of Clint's favorites.) 

But the look passes soon enough and her brows come together in concentration as she presses on the bruise. Clint exhales sharply, and Kate's eyes never leave his face.

"Did it hurt you? Okay, never mind, stupid question. Obviously it did, or you wouldn't have made that noise. What I'm trying to say is ... did you like it?" 

She quirks up one eyebrow when she asks it, and Clint wants nothing more than to abandon their purchases and get home _immediately._

"Yeah," he says, once he finds his voice. "I really did, Katie. You know, we could - "

"Good to know," she interrupts, letting go of his wrist. "We need to go pick up some sour cream before we go." 

Even though Clint's mind is more on the whipped cream idea, he stifles a groan and follows Kate. 

~

Two weeks later, Clint has pretty much given up on anything coming of Kate's curiosity. Which is disappointing, but fine, because it's not as though their current, very vanilla sex life is anything to sneeze at. 

It's really, _really_ not. 

But Clint comes home, tired and sore and generally the appropriate kind of banged up that one gets when hanging out with Earth's Mightiest Heroes, to find Kate sitting on his couch. Their couch? Eh, maybe it's too early in the relationship to call it "their" couch. 

She's sitting on _the_ couch, and a very familiar white scarf is folded neatly into her lap. 

Clint shuts the door, gives Lucky a welcome home pat, and tries to think about how to start the conversation. "So...." 

"I have a therapist," Kate begins, which is not really how Clint imagined following it up. 

"Yeah, you've mentioned her a few times. Everything still going okay?" 

"No, no, I had to get a new one. The old one ... well, she didn't think that what I wanted to do was healthy. What _we_ want to do," Kate clarified. 

"Well, that's some bullshit." Clint peeks around the corner into the kitchen to make sure that Kate's fed Lucky - she's given him a full bowl of the expensive wet crap, if the tiny specks in his bowl are any indication - before flopping down on the couch next to her.

"No, I know. I mean, I'm sure she meant well. I have some issues with - well. Someone hurt me. Once. A long time ago." Kate glances into her lap when she says it, and Clint really wants to shove every arrow in his quiver into the man who makes Kate Bishop make that expression. 

"I kind of suspected," Clint says, and at her scowl, he shrugs and waves at the TV. "SVU," he says by explanation.

"Is a terrible show," she grumbles. "But anyway. When I first started to have fantasies about tying you up, it freaked me out." 

"But why? I told you I was okay with it." More than once, he doesn't say, and for his efforts, he receives another scowl from Kate and, he's pretty sure, an actual _sigh_ from Lucky. 

Of course Lucky's on her side. She gives him the expensive food. 

"Because. I was worried that there was something wrong with me. I don't think there's anything wrong with it for _other_ people, I just thought - I don't know. It sounds stupid now, but I was afraid that I was trying to work out my issues with That Asshole with you, and I never wanted that to be the case." Kate bites her lip and fumbles with the scarf in her hands for a minute. 

The arrows in his quiver aren't enough for what the man deserves. 

"And when your first therapist agreed with you, that must have convinced you that you were right." 

"It did. For a while. But the want didn't go away, and so I figured that my old therapist was a big ball of suck either way. So I got another opinion, and she doesn't think that it's unhealthy for me to want to tie you up." 

"It's _not._ " 

Kate grins at him. "Yeah, I kind of figured out your thoughts about it." 

"The difference," Clint continues, rolling his eyes. "Is that you weren't given a choice, and you didn't want to be tied up or held down, or whatever. I _do._ And I want to do other kinky things with you too, and the fact that are even worried about this makes it pretty obvious that it has nothing at all to do with what That Asshole did to you." 

"That's kind of exactly what my therapist said." 

"Hey, you need to understand psychology to deal with my ... _co-workers._ "

"This is more proof of you wanting to sleep with Spider-Man. Anyway, coming in your pants in the frozen food aisle totally tipped me off on the other kinky things portion," Kate informs him. 

"I do not. And I did not." 

"Totally did." 

"Someone needs a refresher course in what it looks like when I come." 

"I can't believe you said that out loud, Hawkeye." 

"It's part of my cunning plan to get you used to the idea of gagging me, Hawkeye." 

Kate laughs and holds up the scarf, giving it a good firm tug from both ends. "Maybe we'll work up to that. In the meantime, I was thinking we'd start slow. How's that sound?" 

"I thought you'd never ask." 

~

"Slow" is a relative term. 

In theory, it does start that way. They spend twenty minutes establishing verbal and non-verbal safety signals ( _"Or you could just say no. I'll stop, either way," Kate says.)_

"Slow" in this instance also gets Clint's hands tied to the headboard and Kate using her observations in the frozen food section to seek out and press each one of the newly formed bruises as she rides him. 

"Slow" means that her eyes never leave his face, and Clint is entirely aware of that enough that he makes a conscious effort to keep telling her how good it feels. It's an impressive battle, between what Clint knows he needs to say and the incomprehensible nonsense that wants to come out instead.

"Slow" gets him noticeable indentations from the scarf across his wrists, the kind of pleasant and persistent throbbing in his bruises that screams for a nice, hot bath, and the deep kind of contentment that Clint's feeling makes him unable to do anything but curl up on his side to face Kate, after she's untied him. 

It only hits him then just how long it's been since he's had this kind of release. No wonder "slow" didn't last all that long. 

"Verdict?" he asks, once they've both had time to catch their breath. 

"I think I need to kick my old therapist's ass," she says, "Or possibly send my new one a nice bag of chocolate. Or a new car." 

"I vote new car. Definitely worth a new car." 

"Also, you were still totally coming in your pants in the store." 

"Did not."

Kate rolls his eyes at his admittedly childish retort. "Your attempts to argue with me in bed will not speed up my inclination to use a gag on you."

"Eh, that's okay. We'll get there eventually." 

Kate kisses him then, much more gently than she had been moments ago. "Thank you, by the way."

"For what?" 

"For being patient. For waiting on me to figure out what I want, and how I wanted it, and ... for not getting frustrated on me when I was confused." 

Clint thinks that he's not that much of an asshole, but in fairness, he has been before, so he says instead, "Hey, good things come to those who wait, right, Hawkeye?" 

"That they do, Hawkeye."


End file.
